Antebellum
by natcat5
Summary: The year is 2012. Alfred and Arthur have been friends forever, and recently, more than friends. However, international tensions are rising, and the teenagers find themselves caught up in a rising separatist movement in the Britannian colony of America.


**It's not what it looks like. **

**I'm not starting a new story. **

**Nope. **

**Because that would be stupid. **

**...**

**T_T (I'm so weeeeeeeak) **

**/**

Antebellum **  
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"The leaves are late."

A cool breeze rustles the branches and a great rushing sound fills the air. Despite the heavy gust, the leaves remain attached to the boughs; still a bright and vibrant green that appears to glow in the pale light.

Arthur looks up, leaning back on his hands and brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. A layer of gray obscures the sun from view, but the clouds are thin and the sky is still bright. He squints against the light as he stares at the leaves overhead, watching them move and dance in the wind.

"I suppose they are," he says after a moment, dropping his gaze and turning to look at his companion, "It's October and they haven't even begun to change colour."

The young man sitting beside him, Alfred, nods in agreement. He's slouched over with one leg bent and his arm and chin resting on his knee. Behind his glasses, his eyes are pensive, staring out into the distance with a searching gaze.

Arthur frowns a bit and sits up, reaching out a hand to place on Alfred's shoulder. It's hard with muscle though softened by the material of his sweater. Arthur contemplates snuggling up to the younger boy, resting his head on that soft sweater and hard muscle. But Alfred is currently not himself, with all his pensive eyes and no smiles or crooked grins. Still staring out from the hilltop they are sitting on. Looking down at their city, all bright lights and roads and cars dotted with grass and trees that are still bright vibrant green in the cool October air.

So Arthur doesn't rest his head on Alfred's shoulder. He pokes his finger into it instead.

"At the risk of being accused of quoting overrated action movies," he begins with a half-amused quirk of his lips, "Why so serious?"

There's a silence, and the October breeze whistles, ruffling the grass and the leaves and Arthur's hair and Alfred's hair. The punkish hairstyle on the elder only becomes more bristly and punkish, while Alfred's hair whips around in that laughably movie star way. Golden locks look ridiculously inviting, as if beckoning fingers to run their hands through them.

Then the breeze disappears and Alfred turns his head, all wide blue eyes and tousled hair with that same not-Alfred serious expression.

Arthur thinks of all those times he has told Alfred to stop goofing off and to be a bit more serious. To take a page from his book and not treat life as one big joke. Now, he finds himself pining after that infectious laugh to break this ridiculously serious silence.

The irony of the situation does not escape him, and Arthur scowls.

"I was just thinking," says Alfred, finally breaking the silence, "That maybe the leaves not changing colour or falling means something! I mean it's not natural right? It's October and it's cold. I think it might be a sign!"

His not-Alfred seriousness is breaking up and disintegrating as his face lights up and his eyes sparkle that bright blue and his whole body starts to thrum with excitement and energy and the wonder of a million possibilities.

Arthur raises an eyebrow and looks up at the leaves. If some higher being is spelling out messages on their still-green blades, he's not seeing it.

"A sign?" he asks Alfred, his face incredulous and cynical and all scrunched up in disbelief. Arthur shifts his position so that he is sitting crosslegged, hands neatly in his lap as he turns his head towards Alfred and meets his gaze. His eyes are a mossy green, not sparkly and bright like Alfred's but full of depth. Always searching others but too deep for others to search them.

"What kind of sign?"

Alfred tilts his head to the side, like an inquisitive puppy. He appears to think for a moment, gnawing on his bottom lip, before he shrugs and smiles crookedly, placing his hands behind his head.

"I dunno," he says casually, still with that sheepish grin, "A sign of change? Of something new coming?"

He looks both sure and unsure. Sure of something new but unsure of what it will be. His eyes are still all sparkly and they turn from Arthur to stare up at that gray-but-bright sky. Searching for an answer, a message that he wasn't able to make out in the leaves.

"Something new?" echoes Arthur, incredulous, as he has a tendency to be. "Do you want things to change? Here? With us?"

Though Arthur will deny worry or doubt or franticness in his tone or any sign that his words were anything but a casual continuation of conversation, Alfred shoots right up, wiggling towards Arthur and taking the older teen's hand.

"Aw, I didn't mean it like that!" says Alfred, pressing up against Arthur's side and squeezing his hand lightly, "I'm happy right here with you!"

Red blooms on Arthur's cheeks and he begins spluttering. All embarrassment and denials and prickliness.

"I never insinuated that you weren't!" he spits out indignantly. And he hadn't been. Really. Though the thought might have been simmering dangerously at the back of his mind.

"I was merely stating that you don't seem content with this sleepy little town existence." He continues snippily, sweeping one hand towards the area below the hill they're sitting on.

Arthur's description is apt, though their sleepy little town is actually a decently sized city. It just so happens that it is a very boring city, with little corners where everyone knows everyone. In their corner of the world, his and Alfred's, there is a constant routine of going to the same stores, running across the same people, and doing the same things. This little piece of Virginia is a modernized area stuck in a traditional down-to-Earth mindset. The large mall and community centre really mean nothing when your parents went to school with every single employee. No one leaves the citytown. People who come to the citytown fence themselves off into their own little communities. The West end is full of East Asian refugees while the South End is full of Indian and Middle Eastern. The more exotic European immigrants have settled in the East End, and the North, the area Arthur and Alfred are currently surveying via their hilltop, is occupied by primarily by Britannians, like Arthur's family, and New Britannians. People born in America, like Alfred and his clan.

_Sleepy _is an accurate term, however. As the citytown, Norton, is dull in the truest sense of the word. Arthur has never minded it so much though. He enjoys the woodland his estate backs onto and the lack of hectic rush he was so used to in London. When he had first come here ten years ago he never thought he'd be able to settle into life in a colony. Not when he was so used to the majesty and splendor of England. However, Norton was quaint and nice in its own way and Arthur has grown to love the town in his own flustered, denial-sodden way.

"Well…," begins Alfred, replying to Arthur's statement, "It's not that I don't like it here…" He doesn't finish his sentence, but Arthur understands. He has grown to love the town, but for someone who has been here their whole life, and their family for generations, it is a different matter.

And Alfred's restlessness is written all over him. He's fidgety and impulsive and always running everywhere as if he actually had somewhere to be. He wants to leave the province for university but his father wants him stay. Caged. Trapped. An eagle whose wings are growing more and more large and the cage just grows smaller and smaller…

Arthur squeezes Alfred's hand back and smiles at the younger teen gently.

"I understand," he says, his voice kinder and softer than it usually is. Less of the Britannian cynicism and more of the embarrassed-and-flustered-but-still-caring-tone. "You want to get away. You want excitement. Can't say I share your sentiment but I understand why you want something to change."

He does understand. But he can't relate. Sometimes Arthur feels like such an old soul. Content to sit. To look. To sip his tea and feel the breeze. He's entertained the notion of going back to London for university but he really does love Norton. He didn't realize how much he disliked the cutthroat world of England until he saw the chilled atmosphere of America. Moreso when he realized how much more pleasant the people are.

Like Alfred.

Yes, perhaps the reason for him not wanting to go back to London is more along those lines.

That is.

That he doesn't.

Want.

"It's just so annoying you know?" huffs Alfred, all pouts and puffed out cheeks with an adorable crease to his forehead. "Nothing ever happens. Every day is a repeat of the previous one. It's like we're stuck in some stupid infinity loop and we're never gonna get out unless there's a cataclysm or an apocalypse or _something._"

"You watch too many sci-fi movies," comments Arthur dryly, reminded of the summer he and Alfred spent every night on this hill looking for the aliens the younger was sure were going to land. He'd had grass stains on all of his clothes and hadn't had a chance to sleep indoors until September rolled around.

"But life is _boring,_" stresses Alfred, all indignant and pouty and put-out. "Why is life so still in our corner of the world? I'll never understand why you left Europe, Artie. There's _always _something happening there."

Arthur scowls a bit. Both at the nickname and the way Alfred's eyes light up when he speaks of the constant turmoil in the other continent.

"Constant upheavals and rebellions aren't to be taken lightly," he admonishes stiffly, "It's bloody irritating when colonies and other nations under us are always trying to rebel. It's impossible to win against Britannia and all it does is drive up taxes for everyone in the empire. If I had a pound for everytime some Middle Eastern country tried to start a revolution or some idiotic French frogs went on strike to try and gain independence from our Queen, I could buy myself a mansion."

"You already have a mansion," points out Alfred with a little grin, but he is a little more subdued. Britannian power is absolute, but around the world, people still try to challenge it. It's almost depressing the amount of casualties in foreign countries listed on the news each night. It's worse when troops from America have to get sent over. Alfred, personally, is sick and tired of hearing about fellow New Britannians getting killed in a country he can't pronounce. All to secure Britannian power.

Arthur shoots Alfred a scathing glare and the younger boy wilts a bit. Disapproving glares are Arthur's specialty. His eyes are so…_judging. _

Arthur's glare softens at Alfred's cringing and he sighs, shifting his body so that he is kneeling in front of the younger boy.

"Look Alfred," he says, firmly but not with the scathing fire of a thousand judgmental Englishmen, "Norton is boring, but it's a _good _boring. We're lucky to live here, away from the fighting and the rebellions and all the crap that goes on in Europe. And Asia too. Good _God. _Can you imagine if we lived in Asia right now? The place is a mess!"

Alfred's frown deepens, and he is reminded again of all the body counts on the news and the images of corpses lining the street.

A mess is an understatement. A tangle of death and discord and disease with poverty and hatred and every possible evil. That is a better portrayal of Asia at the moment. Torn apart by war between the Chinese and Japanese empires, East Asia has become a bombed-out poorhouse with the two empires in tatters and bankrupt. Economic aid from Britannia is slow coming because the last time they provided economic aid to China and Japan the two empires used it to start another war. Russian workers are helping clean up and rebuild in China, but the two empires essentially have no money, no aid, and are rotting quickly and painfully. The images of their suffering people saturate the news daily and are a constant topic of discussion at school, the dinner table, and everywhere else.

Alfred winces. He goes quiet, that serious expression back on his face. The seventeen-year-old takes things very personally, particularly the suffering of others. Talk of this faraway land drowning in the blood of its people hurts him. A lot.

"But the Russians are helping right?" he says quietly, biting at his bottom lip and pulling at his sleeve. "They're helping over in China. So things should get better soon?"

His tone is questioning. He wants an answer, a reassurance. But Arthur is nothing if not truthful and has trouble sanding the edges off of his barbed-wire opinions.

"Don't count on it," counters Arthur cynically. "Russia is fairly affluent and can provide a decent amount of aid, but what Asia needs is a strong hand to reshape it. All that's going to happen if they get back on their feet now is another power-hungry dictator will take charge and as soon as they have enough money another war will start."

Arthur folds his arms across his chest and a knowing, almost smug look blooms on his face. "No, it's better if the Russians clear out all together. The best option is for Britannia to move in and take over."

He says the words confidently, with a bit of pride and a matter-of-fact tone, as if it was the most obvious thing. However, Alfred's eyes widen and his body tenses as he turns towards Arthur sharply.

"Britannia?" he repeats, his voice wary and as tense as his body, "I thought Britannia wasn't going to get involved in Asia anymore?"

"That was before," replies Arthur, with the same this-is-the-most-obvious-thing-in-the-world tone, "Father says there's been talk of getting China under the Queen. It won't be like before. We won't just be pumping money into the country for them to do as they please. It will be like Germany and the Netherlands after World War 2. Britannia will make them an offer that they can't refuse under their current economic condition."

"And what about the Russians?" counters Alfred, "You think that they'll just leave the country quietly? Seems like they've already staked their claim."

Arthur stares at Alfred, one eyebrow raised and mossy eyes as deep and disapproving as ever. "You don't defy Britannia, Alfred."

The breeze blows. The rustling of the leaves is the only sound in the silence that has suddenly fallen. The air is tense; heavy with unsaid words. Arthur frowns and Alfred turns his face away.

"You think so?" murmurs the younger teen, staring back out into the distance with the not-Alfred seriousness from earlier returned. Still punctuated with a childish uncertainty, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

"Alfred," Arthur is still frowning, forehead all bunched. He moves forward, trying to catch Alfred's gaze again. "What's wrong?"

Alfred is silent, unresponsive. Pensive. Unsure. Then he sighs, his tense body relaxing as he turns to Arthur with a wide grin.

"Nothing!" he says quickly, flashing that sparkly-teeth movie-star grin.

"Nothing?" repeats Arthur. His voice is incredulous and his brows are still knitted together. He is still frowning and his eyes are…_scrutinizing. _

Alfred's grin wavers and he balks a bit.

So _judging. _

"Hehe," he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "Nothing at all!"

Arthur's expression doesn't change and he folds his arms across his chest. "I don't believe you."

"Well you should."

"Well I don't."

Arthur huffs and his eyes narrow and Alfred tries to huff back at him but ends up smiling because as serious as Arthur is trying to look his lips are kind of pouty and with the wind fluffing up his hair he looks rather adorable and huggable and-

Then Alfred is lurching forward and his hand is on the cheek that's flushed with colour in the crisp air and his other hand grabs lightly at the other boy's shirt.

"M-mmph!"

_Kissable. _

Their lips meet harshly and somewhat painfully, and Arthur stiffens and makes an indignant sound. But then Alfred moves his mouth and his thumb traces Arthur's cheekbone and the older teen melts a bit. Or a lot. Noses brush and Alfred smiles as Arthur's hand meets his side. They shuffle closer to each other, movement between lips softening and then increasing in a passionate crescendo.

It's Arthur who breaks away first. Blushing with his eyes down and rubbing the strands of saliva off of his mouth. Alfred drags his own sleeve across his moistened lips, still smiling and regarding the other teen fondly.

"I told you not to do that," mutters Arthur, face turned away and skin a bright scarlet that stains his cheeks and spreads down his neck. "Yet you continue to."

Alfred leans back on his hands, still smiling, still looking at the Britannian with a fond, appreciative look in his eyes.

"I'm not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?" he asks, his head tilted to the side.

Arthur's flush deepens and he drags a hand down his face, looking at Alfred from the corner of his eye. "I also told you not to call me _that_."

"Aw Arthur," Alfred sighs and shuffles closer to the Brit, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him into his chest. Arthur stiffens, then relaxes, but keeps his face averted. "If I didn't know you so well my feelings would be hurt," continues Alfred, resting his chin on top of Arthur's head.

The older teen's response is simply another huff, but he allows himself to fall back onto the New Britannian, rests his hands on top of the arms wrapped around his waist and relaxes with Alfred in the crisp Autumn air.

Alfred smiles again and nuzzles the back of Arthur's neck, smiling at the scent of tea and flowers and books and Arthur.

_I don't want things to change, _Alfred tells himself firmly, relishing the warm body enveloped in his and the heart beat that seems to be beating in perfect rhythym with his own.

But the twisty feeling in his stomach and the anxious feeling in his chest and all the bodycounts rolling through his mind tell him something different.

_Maybe_ this_ doesn't have to change, _thinks Alfred, kissing the top of Arthur's head.

_But something has to._

**/ **

**Okay so, I had this idea awhile ago, for a type of Revolutionary War AU, except set in modern day. At the same time, I was trying to work on my writing style. My favourite style is the one I used in my story 'We All Fall Down', but it's really hard to apply that style to a normal chapter story. This story was my attempt to somehow use that style in a multi-chapter story. **

**So yeah. **

**DON'T EXPECT THIS TO EVER BE UPDATED AGAIN OKAY I JUST REALLY FELT LIKE POSTING IT ALL OF A SUDDEN. **

**xoxo, natcat5 ;p **


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